It’s 12:30 at night. As I rise from an over-sized chair in preparation to brush my teeth, I notice that my bad water bucket is nearly full. I groan, foreseeing the quick yet chilly trip outside to empty it.
I pull on my mom’s thick old grey ski socks and shove my feet into my fur-lined hiking boots. Grabbing the blue bucket from underneath the dry sink, I unlock the two deadbolts, shove my door open and trudge outside. While I quickly cover the white ground towards the fence, my khasaa dog barks twice at a phantom burglar, then snuggles back into her self-made hole. My shoes plunge into the hardened snow creating a crunch that echoes throughout the surrounding yards. I splash the contents of the bucket onto the white snow, spin around, and walk briskly towards my ger.
As I take my last leap over the snow, a realization hits me. This is that time in my life; that epic period that I will recount to my children and grandchildren. How in the middle of a snow covered world, I made a life. I am in a village, in the middle of Mongolia, heading towards my ger. I am experiencing something that can never be replicated.
These everyday tasks usually feel normal. But right now I have been gifted for the briefest moment with the realization of just how exceptional my life is.